


Cry Havoc (Let Slip The Dogs Of War)

by PutAnotherX



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teen Wolf (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gobber as a veterinarian and a druid, Identity Porn, No Spoilers For The Hidden World Plot, References to Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Romance, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PutAnotherX/pseuds/PutAnotherX
Summary: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III is a normal 17-year-old. If you don't count the missing leg. Or his father, the sheriff. Or the strange dog he found in the woods. Or the strange man he met in the woods (really, anything he did in the woods). Or the family secrets he just can't seem to put together. Or the mysterious disappearance of his mother 16 and half years ago. Or the cryptic veterinarian family friend that keeps showing up in the strangest of places. Or how wild he gets around a full moon.So, maybe not so normal.





	1. Heart Inside The Night (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you watch Teen Wolf and HTTYD in quick succession.

Hiccup heard the crackle of his father’s police radio echo through the house.

“All available units to New Berk Preserve, we got a 10-57,” the dispatcher recited dispassionately, and she rattled off identifying factors. Missing person. In the woods.

Hiccup was out of bed before Stoick and dressed before his father could even properly wake up. The backpack hidden in the back corner of his closet held and all manner of gear one would normally associate with a hiker, a cop, or a criminal. He strapped the backpack on and grabbed his water bottle off his nightstand.

Jimmying the window up and propping it open with the scrap wood waiting by it, Hiccup was out and biking to the New Berk Preserve as the sheriff’s car pulled out of their driveway. Although it took seven minutes by road to get to the preserve from the Haddock house, Hiccup could take the back paths he’d carved with his bike tires and be there in five. The October leaves, red and yellow and brown, crunched under his tires as he pedaled. The wind whipped his hair back from where it usually lay strangely flat against his forehead. He could hear the search dogs barking from the official entrance, but he knew the best way to get in undetected was to cross anywhere along the tiny chain strung up between posts in lieu of a fence.

Hiccup left his bike at the fence and pulled his Stinger flashlight out of his backpack. His thumb ran up the engraving of his initials—HHH III—to the button. The forest, still green and lush despite the approaching winter, lit up far too brightly in the LED beam.

“Shit,” Hiccup hissed. “Shit, shit, fuck.” He fumbled for the button again, switching the light to low. Satisfied he wasn’t found out, he took off into the forest. Though the trees and paths were familiar, each step felt like a leap of faith in the dark.

“Blonde,” he recited to himself as he trekked, recalling the potential victim’s details, “five-foot-five, blue sweatshirt, black leggings. Left for a jog this afternoon around 2 pm. Never came back home.”

Around the short, sharp signaling barks of the police dogs, an inhuman howl of pain echoed through the trees. Hiccup’s head whipped toward the sound. It was close. Without another thought, he took off running in the direction he hoped he heard it from. The light from his flashlight bounced erratically as he ran, and he narrowly avoided head-on collisions with a few trees. He felt the disappointment of his middle school gym teacher when his energy flagged, and his limbs grew heavy. The howl pierced the forest again, just a few feet to his left, beyond a barrier of flora. His hands shook despite himself as he pushed through the leaves to reveal a huge black dog caught in a steel jaw trap.

“Oh, gods,” Hiccup breathed. “Hey, bud. Let’s get you out of there.” He fell to his knees beside the dog, who whined pathetically as it pulled against the trap. With each tug, the teeth dug deeper into the skin of its hind leg. Blood matted the fur that remained, and Hiccup had to stifle the urge to vomit at the sight of bone sticking out and skin torn away to ribbons. The dog narrowly missed taking Hiccup’s fingers off as he tried to touch the trap.

“It’s okay,” Hiccup said in his best attempt at a soothing voice. He slid his jacket off his shoulders and wrapped it around the dog’s head. With his attention back on the trap, he put his flashlight in his mouth and silently thanked his dad for every weird survivalist lesson he’d taught him over the years.

 _One hand on each side,_ his dad’s voice instructed in his head. _Push the levers as close to the jaws as possible. It’ll give you more leverage. Deep breath. Put all your weight into it._

Hiccup didn’t bother to stifle his crow of delight when the jaws opened, and the dog shot out of them like a bullet, leaving Hiccup behind and his jacket a few yards away.

“Yes!” he cried, hands in the air victoriously. He half wished his father had seen his feat, the flawless execution of rescue technique hammered in for fifteen years, but he also knew that if he had, Hiccup would be grounded for the rest of his life for following him on a call.

Missing jogger all but forgotten, Hiccup retrieved his jacket and started tracking the dog. With an injury like that, the poor thing would die without medical attention.

 _Pawprints in mud, leaves shifted and trampled, broken twigs, blood spatter,_ Stoick’s voice said. _Look for anything that indicates the environment has been disturbed. ___

The tracks led Hiccup to a gully, carved out of the forest by a creek—likely the northern leg of Raven Creek, he reasoned, which did give him significantly more hold on where exactly he was than he had before. He’d drifted too far from the official search party to even see the beams of the flashlights, although he could hear voices gradually getting louder, his father’s the loudest among them. A fresh streak of mud, disturbed in a straight path down the lip of the gully, told him exactly where he needed to go.

Before he could even begin to put a path down in his mind, a growl dripping in animalistic fury tore into the air behind him. When he turned, slowly, with his hands in the air, he expected to find the dog. Instead, he was faced with a hulking man with long, dark hair tangled and matted into a strange approximation of dreadlocks. One tree-stump-sized arm hung oddly at his side, and his eyes flashed red. Hiccup froze, dropping his flashlight. He felt his heart pounding to escape his chest. He tried to take a step back and just avoided tumbling into the gully. The man took a single step forward and sniffed the air.

“A beta?” the man asked, an unfamiliar accent curling around his thick, rasping voice. He inhaled deeply through his nose again. “No. An omega. Didn’t anyone ever tell you a lone wolf never survives?”

“Wha—” Hiccup’s words died in his throat as the man took a step forward. He was stuck. Between the man—or whatever he was—approaching with slow, predatory steps and the gully, there was no way he could get out of this. Another growl started from his left, and Hiccup wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more terrified to see the dog he had released from the trap. The dog’s green eyes—weird, Hiccup noted even in his infinite fear—were locked on the man-thing, its sharp white teeth bared in a vicious snarl.

“The pup’s got himself a pet,” the man snarled. It happened in slow motion. The man took a step forward. Hiccup took a step back. The dog leapt. He could hear the fight as he fell, the tearing and rending of flesh with teeth and claws. He could hear the crash and yelp as the dog was thrown into a tree. Before his head struck the rock, he could hear all of it. From then on, it came in and out in flashes, but he fought to stay awake.

He thought he might have screamed when the boulder came down on his left leg.

The man was screaming.

There was blood on his face. Some of it was his.

Barking. Barking. Barking. Voices got closer, louder, and he heard his father call his name. He screamed when the boulder was lifted. He stopped fighting.

* * *

Hiccup woke in the hospital to a different world. A one-legged world. His stump was wrapped in gauze, and his head pounded out an ill-tempered beat. His brain was drug-addled and fluid, tying itself in knots trying to say actual words to his father.

“The dog,” he eventually managed, and his dad looked sufficiently shocked. “The dog needs help.”

“I had him brought to Gobber,” his dad said slowly. “His leg’s been amputated, but he’s fine. There’s nothing he can do to fix how strange he looks, though.”

“We match,” Hiccup slurred. “Owner?”

His dad huffed a nervous laugh. “None,” he said. “No microchip, no collar, and no missing dogs reported matching his description.” Hiccup smiled drunkenly.

“Keep him,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and he could see the exact moment when that dawned on his dad.

“Hiccup,” his dad warned. And then he paused, seeming to really consider the idea. “Alright,” he said. “You win.”

* * *

The thing was, Hiccup wasn’t ever sure if it really happened or not. He hadn’t seen Astrid since her family moved away in the third grade, but she came to visit him with a bouquet of balloons and a teddy bear with one leg ripped off and sewn shut.

“Sorry,” she said when he noticed it. “It was Snotlout’s idea. He destroyed the leg.”

“I destroyed mine,” Hiccup said matter-of-factly, and he realized he might still be a little concussed when he saw the look on Astrid’s face. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he assured her. She gave him a tiny smile, but it twisted into a frown. She punched his arm, but he barely felt it beneath the drugs.

“That’s for scaring me,” she said. Then she grabbed the front of his hospital gown and pulled him in to a quick, chaste kiss. “That’s for, uh, everything else.”

She was gone before the smile could finish spreading across his face.


	2. If You Could See Me (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playlist: [havoc.](https://open.spotify.com/user/mzqfvba9xm0e1vd44a3jeoqyr/playlist/1eE0MvDYY6dqyzqYN1RN5Q?si=RaYu6kxDRdqgy135Hu6smA)

Hiccup hears the crackle of his father’s police radio echo through the house.

“All available units to New Berk Preserve, we got a 10-54,” the dispatcher recites in the same dispassionate tone she’s always had. “Be advised, only half has been found.”

Any internal battle Hiccup would have had about following his father into the woods again ends before it begins. _Dead body in the woods. Missing half._

The full moon’s light streams through Hiccup’s window brightly enough he doesn’t need to turn on his lamp. Toothless stirs from his bed when Hiccup starts to roll on his prosthetic liner, a telltale sign of trouble at this hour. He grumbles and stretches more luxuriously than a 177-pound tripodal behemoth should be able to before he gets up. He finds Hiccup’s jeans from yesterday abandoned at the foot of the four-poster bed. With a flick of Toothless’s head, the jeans fly and hit Hiccup square in the face as he’s wiggling the air out of his prosthetic socket.

“Thanks, bud,” Hiccup says, uncaring of Toothless’s attitude. He yanks his jeans on, only taking care with the magnetic closure on the inseam around his prosthesis. Toothless’s nails _click-clack_ against the hardwood floor, and the bright red service dog harness lands beside him on the bed before he can jam his foot into his adidas high top.

They both freeze when they hear Stoick’s heavy footsteps pass the bedroom door. His normally booming voice is as hushed as he can make it as he relays instructions to his deputies over the phone. The front door opens and shuts, and they spring back into action, their routine practiced and precise from the go-bag in the back of the closet to the jeep keys hanging by the door.

The jeep awaits them as it always does, and they take off.

* * *

Hiccup parks a mile away from the entrance. Toothless has his head sticking out the window, and he’s scenting the air before the jeep is even parked.  
The search dogs bark restlessly at the main gate, but Toothless doesn’t waver from his task of leading Hiccup through the trees. It’s an exercise of trust. Hiccup’s flashlight serves only to illuminate twigs or stones that would pull his legs out from under him. The leash hooks them together at the belt and the harness. He’s not quite sure what scent they’re following—for all he knows, it could be a rabbit or squirrel—but feeling the uncharacteristically cool air settle around them in a fine mist is liberating enough that he can’t bring himself to care.

Toothless leads him onto an old path, well-worn but overgrown and blocked in places. It strikes a chord of remembrance that Hiccup can’t place. They keep walking, the voices of the search party growing quieter and quieter behind them. Toothless is determined, but at every obstacle he turns to watch Hiccup pass it successfully. The house at the end of the trail knocks Hiccup breathless. 

“More of a mansion, really,” he says to Toothless, but he doesn’t bother to explain the root of the thought. Its walls are charred black, the glass of the windows shattered and boarded up. The roof slopes down in the middle, and an assortment of lichens and mosses are splotched around. “At least it used to be.”

Toothless whirls around, a growl starting deep within him and pointed at something behind Hiccup, leaving him scrambling to find the source of Toothless’s ire.

“This is private property, kid,” a voice says from within the thicket. A tall, dark-haired man maybe a handful of years older than Hiccup himself steps out, and a spark of recognition ignites in the back of Hiccup’s mind, although he’s sure he would remember someone with a face tattoo.

“Sorry,” Hiccup says in his best unassuming voice. “We’re just looking for something.”

“I’ll bet you are,” the man scoffs, and it’s an accusation.

Toothless growls again, tugging at the lead with his hackles up and his head lowered. He puts himself between Hiccup and the man, who seems unconcerned with the fierce protectiveness of the unholy offspring of a Newfoundland and a German Shepherd. When Toothless glances back to make sure Hiccup is safely behind him, Hiccup swears he sees those strange green eyes _glowing_. 

“Is that thing always like this?” the man asks with a scowl.  
“Where are our manners? I’m Hiccup Haddock,” he says wryly, noting the recognition in his eyes at his last name, “and _this_ is Toothless.” He gestures to him in a dramatized sweep.

“Hmm. He definitely has teeth.” The man’s eyes never leave Toothless.

“So everyone reminds me.”

“Eret,” Eret says after a beat. “Eret Eretson.”

Hiccup resists the urge to comment on his name. It has never worked out well for him. The name _Eretson_ , however, rings a bell strongly enough to jog a memory of his father’s work.

“Eretson, like the Eretson House fire?” he asks. Eret’s face screws farther into its scowl, etching heavy creases.

“What’s it to you, _Haddock_?” Eret spits his name at his feet like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “You think I don’t know exactly who your daddy is?”

His hostility is matched when Toothless doubles down, but Eret steps forward anyway, backing him up into Hiccup’s legs.

“You think I don’t know exactly what—” he cuts off with a heavy sniff. “Does your father know you’re a werewolf?”

“A— _what_?” Hiccup splutters.

Eret’s hazel eyes change in an instant, glowing a bright ice blue. Hiccup freezes. Eret bares his teeth to reveal fangs where Hiccup was sure human teeth had been before. He feels Eret’s growl deep in his chest. It bores a hole in his gut, and he can feel his own teeth changing in his mouth.

As quickly as the confrontation begins, it’s over. Eret steps back again and pulls his phone out of his pocket, holding the camera in front of Hiccup. His teeth match Eret’s, but his eyes glow yellow-gold instead of blue.

“A werewolf,” Eret says. His head snaps to his left, and Toothless redirects his anger to exactly where Eret is looking. “You don’t know how to fight, do you?” His voice curls up hopefully.

“Fight what?” Hiccup feels panic spread through him while he touches the tips of his fangs— _his fangs_ —and his feet unfreeze, but the only thing he can do is take a couple steps back from Eret, pulling Toothless with him. There’s a black smoky mist rising from his fur, leaving Hiccup to wonder just how many pieces of the puzzle he’d been missing.

“Untie the dog.”

“What? Why?” He knows he sounds stupid, but his head is spinning from all the information being hurled at him at once.

“He’ll protect you.”

Against his better judgement, Hiccup listens. Before he can consider regretting that decision, a huge black creature with glowing red eyes stalks out of the thicket. The roar it gives is ten times more powerful than Eret’s. Hiccup’s feels his fingernails turning into claws.

“What is that?” he asks around his fangs.

“An Alpha,” Eret says. “An angry one. Run.”

Before he gets the chance, the monster rushes at him. The impact knocks him back hard into a tree. As the monster gears up to attack again, Toothless and Eret launch themselves at it in a strangely elegant attack.

“Run, kid!” Eret shouts.

Hiccup obeys.

* * *

Hiccup’s heart pounds in his ears. His legs move far more quickly than they ever have before. His body feels brand new to him, but he doesn’t take the time to revel in it as he escapes. He becomes aware of Toothless catching up to him, and he allows the relief to pour over him. A tree branch comes up too quickly for him to dodge, and the shoe on his prosthesis catches underneath it, sending him sprawling into an all-too-familiar gully.

When his eyes open, he is face-to-face with the clouded, unseeing eyes and frozen slack jaw of a corpse. He can’t stifle the yelp that escapes him. Toothless completely ignores the body—or rather, the half body—as he pulls Hiccup up by the backpack, helping him to right himself. With Toothless helping, it takes seconds to get out of the gully that Hiccup never would have escaped if he were on his own. Such are the benefits of having a service dog bigger and strong than it’s ‘master,’ Hiccup supposes as Toothless barks a clear _hurry up_ message at him.

The search party gets louder and closer as they run, but Hiccup’s adrenaline is starting to flag. His body is giving out. He needs to stop. Toothless keeps going as Hiccup leans against a tree, sinking down to the ground. He thinks he must have blacked out for a second, because when he opens his eyes, Toothless is licking his face.

And his father is standing over him.

“Hey, Dad,” he huffs, still out of breath. He points back where they came from. “I found the other half of the body. It’s that way.” His dad just scowls.

“You’re grounded, Hiccup.”

* * *

The first day of school is always a rough one for Hiccup and Toothless. As if it weren’t enough that he has to tell every freshman in the school not to pet his service dog, everyone else seems to forget the rule as well. Toothless, for his part, is not particularly amenable to being touched by anyone that’s not Hiccup while he’s working, and most of the time his cat-like glares are enough to put them off when he’s curled around Hiccup’s shoes.

This one is a whole new ballgame. They’re both exhausted from the night before, and Hiccup is still reeling. It takes everything he has not to excuse himself to the bathroom just to watch his fangs and claws protract and retract over and over and over, and first hour hasn’t even begun yet.

A phone rings when he sits down for first period English, and its shrill notes drill into his brain. None of the students filing in seem to even notice as he searches for the source of the pain, and even Toothless is unbothered as he sits watch. The ringing stops mid-melody.

“Three calls on my first day is a bit much, Mom,” a girl’s voice says breezily. Movement outside the window catches Hiccup’s eye, and he spots Astrid Hofferson sitting outside on the bench. Talking on the phone. He doesn’t believe he’s really hearing her until she digs around in her bag. “Ugh,” she says into the phone, and he can see her mouth form the words. “I can’t believe I seriously forgot a pen on my first day. No, please don’t drive down here. I gotta go, Mom, love you.”

“Mr. Haddock,” Mrs. Ack calls. “Something interesting out there?” Hiccup’s face catches fire. On the chalk board is written “Kafka’s Metamorphosis,” and he realizes he missed the bell and the greeting.

“Uh, no, ma’am,’ he says. “Sorry.”

* * *

The class is well into the syllabus when the door opens to reveal Astrid with the vice principal. Hiccup is well into not paying attention, but he tunes in when he sees her.

“Class,” the vice principal says, “this is Astrid Hofferson. Some of you may already know her.”

And Hiccup tunes out again, his eyes never leaving Astrid’s face. She catches him staring, but before he can look away, she smiles at him. The only open seat is right in front of him.

He holds up an extra pen in front of her as she sets her notebook on the desk. Her smile burns a hole in his brain.

“Thanks,” she whispers, and he just catches the tail end of her confused face before he goes back to pretending to take notes.

_Maybe this won’t be all bad,_ he thinks.

* * *

Astrid’s locker is, of course, right between Ruffnut’s and Snotlout’s. Hiccup watches from his own locker as she falls right back in with them as if no time has passed since third grade.  
“Hey, Astrid,” Snotlout says, “the lacrosse team has a party every Friday night at the twins’ house. You wanna come?” Hiccup nearly jumps out of his skin when it sounds like they’re right next to him.

“I wish I could,” Astrid answers. “Friday is family night.”

“She’s been back, what, five minutes?” Fishlegs says next to Hiccup. “And they’re already all chummy again. How’s that?”

“Cause she’s pretty and perfect and Astrid,” Hiccup replies distractedly.

“Oh, come on,” Fishlegs whines. “You’re not still crushing on her, are you?” Hiccup scrunches up his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies. “Are you gonna be home tonight? I’ve got a project I want to run by you.”

“After lacrosse practice. You can wait if you want. How do you have a project already? It’s the first day.”

“It’s a personal thing.” Hiccup finally breaks his gaze off Astrid to look at Fishlegs, who snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Okay, weirdo.”

* * *

The paint on the lacrosse field is all but gone, but the bleachers have a fresh coat of currant red over the designs in preparation for the upcoming season. Hiccup sits on the edge sketching in a notebook, and Toothless lounges belly-up. His harness lays forgotten by Hiccup’s backpack.

Before he lost his leg, Hiccup was on the lacrosse team. He never played in a real game except when they were winning by an insane margin, and he only joined to impress his father. The amputation provided a convenient excuse to quit playing a game that had given him several broken bones.

“Hey,” Astrid’s voice says beside him. “Is this seat taken?” He freezes.

“Uh,” he drones. “Yeah, uh, I mean, no, it’s free. Not taken. Totally available for whoever wants to—”

“Great,” she cuts him off. If she hadn’t, he knows he would have kept going. “I kind of need to talk to you.”

“Me?” he squeaks. She’s just as beautiful as he remembers—more so, probably, and it throws him off.

“Who else?”

“Uh…”

“That was rhetorical, Hiccup,” she says, and she’s smiling. It knocks the wind out of him. Her hair is white-gold in the sunlight and her eyes the color of his aunt’s hydrangea. He’s aware that his answering smile is probably—no, definitely—totally dorky. “I just wanted to thank you, again.” Toothless wakes up with a jolt and wiggles his way to his feet ridiculously, pushing his head into Astrid’s lap. Her laugh sounds like music.

“Thank me?” He snaps out of his daze. Her nose crinkles for half a second.

“Yeah, I mean, if you hadn’t gone looking for me that night, I probably would’ve, like, died of exposure, or something, so,” she keeps going, but Hiccup just watches the way her words shape her face, the way her freckles move with her lips until what she’s saying dawns on him.

“You were the jogger in the woods two years ago,” he realizes. Her posture deflates. She grimaces.

“Yeah,” she says with a frown. “And if they hadn’t found you, they wouldn’t have found me. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have lost your leg.” Hiccup thinks about it for a second. 

“I wouldn’t have Toothless, either,” he reasons. Toothless is still trying to wriggle onto Astrid’s lap subtly, as if he isn’t approximately a million times her size. She laughs again. “I’d trade a leg for him any day. All three of us were in the woods that night. We all needed help. It was just the universe working out for us.”  
“Look out!” Fishlegs calls from the field, and time slows down. The ball is headed straight for Astrid’s face, but Hiccup has all the time in the world to catch it. It’s almost too easy. His hand stops the ball two inches from her nose. Her jaw drops, her hand finding its way to his shoulder. A current runs between them, pulling them in closer together. She glances at the watch on her wrist and snaps to attention.

“I have to go,” she says, standing up suddenly. “My mom’s picking me up, like, three minutes ago.”

“Wait, Astrid!” Hiccup calls as she starts away. She turns. “Can you get out of family night on Friday? I hear there’s a party.”

She grins, and he grins back.

“Family night was a lie,” she admits. He raises his eyebrows in expectation. “Pick me up at seven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you watch/have watched Teen Wolf, you will recognize most of the mythology. If you haven't, it will all be explained. I had to rework the plot quite a bit because I was relying too much on TW's plot and not enough on HTTYD's characters.


	3. If You Could See Me (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup revisits an old friend.

“Seriously,” Fishlegs says, shoving his arms through his backpack straps, “that was the smoothest thing I think I’ve ever seen. When did you get the reflexes of a superhero?” Hiccup rolls his eyes, and they land on Eret standing at the edge of the parking lot. 

“Oh, Thor,” he mutters, his smile melting off his face. “ _That’s_ not creepy at all.”

“I’m glad,” Eret says. His voice is clear enough that he could be standing right in front of Hiccup.

“Do you know that guy?” Fishlegs’s face is screwed up in a frown, his eyes narrow.

“We’ve met.”

“So…?”

“Let’s just go," Hiccup says. "How much do you know about werewolves?” He thinks Fishlegs's face might crack from the grin he wears.

* * *

Hiccup half expects Fishlegs’s room to have been unaffected by the flow of time. Instead of the artifacts of childhood Hiccup remembered, it was filled with posters of indie songwriters and books on the supernatural—which were, if Hiccup were honest with himself, strangely comforting.

“Werewolves,” Fishlegs starts, cracking his knuckles, “are the best-known subspecies of shapeshifters.” He drops into his desk chair and spins to his laptop, ready and waiting for him on his desk. His fingers fly on the keyboard. “What do you want to know?” Hiccup drops his backpack by the bed and flops down. Toothless snuffles around, poking his nose where it doesn’t belong, but Fishlegs doesn’t seem bothered. His bullmastiff, Meatlug, just sticks her nose up Toothless’s ass in greeting. Hiccup laughs at Toothless’s indignant yelp.

“Let’s pretend they’re real,” Hiccup says, once more focused on the task at hand. “How would one… become a werewolf?” Fishlegs thinks.

“Well, there’s the obvious bite or a really deep scratch,” he answers.

“No, I was never bitten,” Hiccup says without thinking.

“Are you the werewolf in this scenario?” Fishlegs stops typing abruptly. Hiccup tries not to show his slip-up.

“For sake of convenience,” he responds faux-diplomatically, “let’s just say that it’s me. I’ve never been bitten or scratched, so how could it happen?”

“Well, have you drunk rainwater out of a wolf’s paw print?” Fishlegs asks.

“Uh… no.”

“Applied any magic salves?”

“No.”

“Gotten cursed?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Worn any weird animal pelts lately?”

“No.”

“Eaten an unborn fetus?”

“Gross.”

“Were you conceived on a full moon?”

“Somehow, that’s grosser.”

Fishlegs thinks about it for a second.

“Well, there’s always genetics,” he says. “One or both of your parents could have passed it on.”

“As in my dad is secretly a werewolf and just forgot to mention it all these years?” Hiccup asks.

“I mean, or your mom.” Fishlegs looks back at Hiccup. His face screws up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no,” Hiccup interrupts. “It’s fine.” He feels the assertion settle in his gut. Fishlegs is staring at him with a mix of curiosity and pity with which he’s all too familiar.

“What’s with the sudden interest?” Fishlegs asks. “Is there a new movie out that I haven’t heard of?”

“Uh…”

“You used to hate those kinds of movies.” Fishlegs’s eyes bore into Hiccup. Toothless jumps on his lap, saving him from a confrontation by whining at Meatlug’s fascinated searching.

“You know what?” Hiccup says, standing up and dumping Toothless on the floor unceremoniously. “Toothless is overdue for a potty break. He’s been working all day. I gotta let him off the clock.” It’s technically half true. Toothless has been off duty since school ended, but Hiccup’s hasty retreat down the stairs is punctuated by Toothless pushing at the back of his intact leg. They’re both ready to go.

“The next full moon is this Friday!” Fishlegs calls after them. “I would stay home that day, if I were you.”

“I’m not actually a werewolf,” Hiccup lies as he hustles out the door. “See you at school.” He pauses just before he shuts the door behind him. "And, uh, thanks for the help."

* * *

Toothless paces the room like a mother hen while Hiccup gets ready for bed. His eyes never meet Hiccup, but he feels his surveillance anyway. 

“Go to bed, bud,” Hiccup says, rolling his eyes. “You can baby me in the morning.” He leans his iWalk against the wall, where his prosthesis is already leaning. The liner is inside out on top of the nightstand, ready to be rolled on. “Can you get the lights, bud?” Hiccup closes his eyes and lays down on his side. He grabs for his comforter, but his hand comes back with a handful of wet leaves instead. When he opens his eyes, his bedroom has transformed into the forest of New Berk Preserve. His stomach twists into a knot. His prosthesis is back on, but he’s naked except his boxers and the shoe on his false foot. The sun is beginning to peak over the pieces of horizon he can see through the trees.

He shoves back the bone-deep exhaustion and stands on shaking legs. It takes some effort, but he takes a few steps, his knees knocking together like a newborn giraffe’s. His heart beats heavily in his ears. A shadow passes in the corner of his eye, and he whips his head around to see what it is. Through the early morning fog, he finally makes out the hulking form of the Alpha from the other night. It looks different in the light, but it’s no less terrifying to see its glowing red eyes tracking his movements.

Hiccup makes a couple false steps to vacuum the air out of his prosthetic socket, and he starts to run. The Alpha keeps pace with him but does not get any closer. Before Hiccup realizes what he’s doing, he’s hopping a chain link fence and sprinting.

The road comes out of nowhere, as does the pickup truck that comes inches from hitting him. The driver swerves and lays on the horn. The tires squeal as the truck jerks and slides to a stop. The sound pierces Hiccup’s brain, and he covers his ears, falling to his knees in the middle of the lane.

“Hiccup?” Snotlout yells. “What the fuck are you doing?” Hiccup looks back frantically, but the Alpha is gone.

“I—” he starts, but he isn’t quite sure where to go from there. “I think I was sleepwalking.”

* * *

“So,” Snotlout says after several uncomfortable moments of silence, “is this like, a thing you do now? Running around in the woods naked at the crack-ass of dawn?” His truck growls with every acceleration and purrs against the brakes.

“Gods, I hope not,” Hiccup answers. A shiver crawls up his spine, and Snotlout turns the heat up without a word about it.

“Have you gotten that mole on your side checked out? It looks kinda weird.”

“Shut up.” Hiccup crosses his arms tightly across his chest to cover himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Snotlout says, clearly not sorry. “Are you the one driving his naked cousin home from a freaky jog in the woods, or are you the one getting his bare ass all over my nice leather seats?”

“My _ass_ is not _bare_ ,” Hiccup argues pathetically, although the rest of him is. Snotlout snorts. He knows he’s won.

“What’s with the shoe?” he asks. Hiccup exhales heavily.

“I usually just leave it on the leg. One less step in the morning.”

“Huh. How does the leg stay on?” It’s not a _bad_ question, per se, and it’s not even that weird a question, so Hiccup doesn’t fight it. That Snotlout took two years to ask is more likely a factor of their strange not-quite friendship than a lack of curiosity.

“Vacuum pump.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Hiccup lifts his fake leg and points to the black puck just above the mechanical ankle. “It sucks all the air out of the socket while I walk.”

“Learn something new every day.”

“My turn,” Hiccup says. “What are _you_ doing up this early?”

“I—uh,” Snotlout sputters. His hands twist into a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. 

“Is it about your dad?” Hiccup asks, his voice getting quiet on its own accord.

“That’s none of your business,” Snot says a little too aggressively. Hiccup takes the hint.

The rest of the ride passes in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me for how long this took lmao just glad i got it out

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
